


by the end of the day

by elegantstupidity



Category: Pitch (TV 2016)
Genre: F/M, Gen, Hospitals, Hurt/Comfort, Post-Season/Series 01, Yuletide Treat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-18
Updated: 2017-12-18
Packaged: 2019-02-16 14:58:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,180
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13056330
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elegantstupidity/pseuds/elegantstupidity
Summary: Ginny's probably—definitely if the front office has a say—not supposed to have visitors. She gets them anyway.





	by the end of the day

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lulabo](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lulabo/gifts).



Ginny hadn't yet cried today. There'd been some swearing—okay, a shitload of swearing, but only once she was safely off the field and out of camera range—but no tears. 

Which wasn't to say that she didn't probably deserve to cry. She'd pissed off the baseball gods by saying the one thing she wasn't supposed to, and they'd really come down hard with their lesson. Her arm felt like a motherfucking truck had run over it. Even with the chemical ice pack wedged in the crook of her elbow, it was impossible to ignore the pain. She'd refused anything stronger than a Tylenol-3, but the longer she sat, alone in the entirely beige and gray hospital room, the more she began to regret that decision.

Still, Ginny didn't see much point in crying about any of it.  

If she was going to cry about anything, it would be the blow this injury could deal to her career. Bad enough to cut her first season short, what if she never got another one? What if she needed Tommy John? She knew the stats. Most pitchers came back from it, but whether or not they came back as good as before was a toss up. Anyway, didn't the world delight in proving over and over again that Ginny Baker wasn't _most pitchers?_  Who was to say that the front office would put up with her and all the attending drama next season or the one after if her ERA tanked and she couldn't even throw a screwball anymore? She probably wouldn't even come out ahead in the Box Office if that was the case. The only way she put asses in seats was when she was dealing. 

Who the hell knew if she'd even make a slow pitch softball team when this was all said and done?

Ginny sniffed and stared up at the ceiling. Not to quell the urge to cry or anything because she really wasn't going to cry today. The room was just so bland, staring at the ceiling was basically the same as staring at anything else. Since the TV—and the unending coverage of her injury—was off-limits, why not stare at the God damn ceiling and wait for her team of doctors to make another appearance?

Except, she had never been good at sitting quietly and doing nothing. Too much longer in here, all alone, and Ginny was going to lose her fucking mind.

How long had she been here anyway? It had taken approximately forever to make it from the stadium to the hospital. By the time she was released from the clubhouse, fans and news crews had converged on Petco. (Gotta love the internet for letting everyone in a hundred-mile radius know exactly when her life imploded, right?) When they finally made it through the mob and arrived at the hospital, she'd been spirited off to a private room to await the Chief of Radiology. Only the best for Ginny Baker and the San Diego Padres. 

Now, she'd finally had her MRI done, but was back to waiting, though this time for the results.

The scant spaces between the blinds, which had been drawn the whole time on the off chance a tv crew or paparazzi figured out which window was hers, had been dark for hours.

Which, coincidentally, was the most time Ginny'd spent in any hospital since she was in high school. 

Not exactly the kind of record she'd hoped to break today.

“If you don’t get out of my way, I will not be responsible for what happens!”

Immediately, Ginny perked up.

The hospital room’s door had been designed to keep out germs and the hustle and bustle of the hospital hallways, but it clearly hadn't been installed with a an irate Evelyn Sanders in mind. 

"Ev?" she called, craning forward and hating the way the hospital gown she'd been bullied into crinkled with her every move. 

On cue, the door swung open. Gordon, her security detail, kept one arm braced against the doorjamb to bar the way, but beneath that arm, Ginny caught sight of her friend. She'd never been so happy or relieved to see a familiar face. 

Clearly underestimating the tiny woman before him, Gordon opened his mouth to ask whether or not she should be allowed in. Evelyn, of course, beat him to the punch. Hardly ducking at all, she bobbed under his outstretched arm and strode inside. 

"That'll be all," she said, dismissing the 290-pound ex-linebacker without so much as a look back. She set her giant purse on the bedside table instead and began surveying her domain. Well, what would very quickly become her domain, Ginny expected.

Gordon shifted his incredulous gaze to Ginny, who offered him an apologetic shrug. Shaking his head, he pulled the door closed. 

Evelyn, meanwhile, busied herself with fluffing Ginny's pillows, straightening her blankets, and generally fretting over the things she could. If her fingers trembled a little and the smile she offered wasn't as effortlessly sunny as usual and she clung a little too tight when she finally folded Ginny in her arms, Ginny was too busy reveling in her presence to mind much. 

Particularly since Evelyn didn't bother asking the same question everyone else had.  The: "How are you doing?" with the gentle voice and the soft eyes and the grating, pitying smile. 

God, it made Ginny wanna thrash something. If she had two good arms, she might.

Instead, Evelyn asked, "They feed you yet?"

They hadn't, which was yet another reason Ginny was ready to climb out the window if that was what it took to get out of here. In the one bit of positive coincidence today, Ginny's stomach growled. Pitifully, she shook her head to press the case. Maybe she was already hatching a plan to guilt Evelyn into making a snack run. She could probably fit a lot in that bag of hers.

But Ev, as usual, was well ahead of the curve. 

"I figured," she scoffed. If she were in a restaurant, she'd make some cutting comment about the service. As it was, she settled for shaking her head and turning back to the side table and her purse. Rummaging through it, she continued, "Which was why I brought you this." 

With a flourish, she produced a glass dish with a bright red lid. When Ginny took hold of it, the sides were still warm.

Peeling back the lid, she had to blink. And then blink again. Nestled inside the container were all her favorite foods. Her favorite comfort foods, to be exact. Cheesy potatoes au gratin and garlic green beans and a fluffy biscuit. Oh, and that mouthwatering aroma wafting out of the back? That could only be Ev's famous pot roast and gravy, her mom's secret recipe.

God, did Ginny love Evelyn. At the same time, though, she refused to let  _food_ be the thing that undid her today.

Once she'd collected herself to look up again, her friend was just smiling back and holding out a fork, knife, and napkin. 

Ginny could take a hint.

The first bite was pure heaven.

"What would I do without you, Ev?" she wondered aloud, only just managing to swallow before opening her mouth. It was just  _so good_. And not just because Ginny hadn't eaten anything since before the game. This was love in a pyrex dish.  


"You'd die."

Yeah, seemed right.

Ginny took another few bites until she was sure the gnawing edge of hunger wouldn't get the better of her. Only then did she venture,  "No boys?" 

"Nope," Evelyn replied. "They're with my parents—my mom's already making you a pie, by the way—but I figured they could wait to climb all over you for at least 24 hours. I mean, you probably need the rest. You did just blow a no-hitter."

In spite of herself, Ginny sputtered out a laugh. "That's real nice!" she protested. "You do know you're supposed to make me feel better right now, right?" 

Evelyn hummed, a grin tucked into the corner of her mouth, and settled in the easy chair set next to the bed. "Is that what I'm supposed to be doing? Here I was, thinking I was taking a night off from the kids and hubby. And I told you I can't cheer you up the way I do him. I can't stretch enough when I'm wearing these pants."

Ginny just shook her head, fondly exasperated. How on earth did Evelyn always know exactly what she needed? Before she could get misty, she said, "Also, _I_ didn't blow the no-hitter. That was all on Margolis. What the hell was he thinking throwing that slider to Halcombe?"

"Funny, I asked him the same thing." 

For someone who was meant to be on total lockdown from the public, Ginny sure was getting a lot of visitors. 

And for someone who was by no means a small man, Mike Lawson certainly looked tiny compared to the looming bulk of Gordon at his shoulder. 

He hovered at the door, too uncertain— And when had Ginny ever seen Mike, on or off the field, look so uncertain? 

(Flashes of him standing just feet from her, the sleeves of his soft—God, it really was so soft—blue shirt rolled up and showing off his strong arms as he struggled for words, burst in bright technicolor across her mind's eye. 

Now that she thought about it, there was no way he'd meant to tell her about her cleats, right? It wouldn't have been that hard for him to admit a dumb prank they both already knew he'd pulled.)

Anyway, he was uncertain now, unwilling to push past Gordon the way Evelyn had. 

_Maybe that's a good thing,_ Ginny thought faintly.  She could still hear his voice in her ear, warm as the hand on her back, "It's all right. Hang on. Hang in there," a desperate loop as they waited for the trainers to take the field. She couldn't forget the way he hadn't left her side, had trailed her back to the dugout and nearly left the field and the game behind to keep following until Al pulled him back. 

It took a beat too long to shake the memory away. When she did, Ginny was acutely aware of Evelyn's attention, to say nothing of Mike's or her security guard's. Pasting on a smile, she gave a nod to Gordon, who was too much of a professional to do much more than raise an eyebrow before allowing her captain entrance. 

Mike, however, couldn't be counted on to do the same. 

Jerking his head towards the hall, he joked, "Haven't they heard you're already damaged goods, Baker? There's no point in surrounding you with the Brute Squad anymore."

"Maybe I like the Brute Squad," she tossed back, though it was a lie. Sure Gordon and Tony and their weekend replacements were all nice enough guys, but being trailed by nearly 600 pounds of muscle everywhere she went got tiring after about the second hour. And that had been back in June.  

Mike rolled his eyes, completely aware of how full of shit she was. He leaned a hip against the end of her bed and crossed his arms over his chest.

Hidden under the bulky leather of his coat, they didn't look nearly as good as they had two—was it really only two?—nights ago. 

Well, and wasn't that just an off-fucking-limits topic of conversation? Ginny backtracked, setting aside her mostly finished dinner. 

"You really call Margolis out?"

"Of course," he replied, instant. "He cost the team its first no-hitter. Nearly cost us the game and you the win."

Evelyn, who never could stay in the background too long, frowned. "Ginny was already out. Who even cared about the no-hitter?"

"Just about every baseball fan in the country," Mike snarked back. Sourly, Ev pursed her lips at him, and he held up his hands in defeat. "Y'know, combined no-hitters are even less common than a regular one? Really, Baker, you just couldn't resist going for that extra bit of glory, could you?"

"You know me. I'm all about the glory."  


"Ah, well," he sighed, mouth quirked to the side in a gentler version of his familiar, cocky grin. "There's always next season."

That, more than Mike's weak jokes, brightened Ginny's outlook by miles. It was just an offhand comment, a throwaway reassurance. Which meant that Mike really believed it. He wasn't cruel or stupid enough to say something like that to her as she sat in a hospital bed, waiting to hear whether or not her career was over. He'd been there often enough himself to know what was or wasn't likely.

Smiling to herself, Ginny repeated, "Next season."

"And the one after that," Evelyn chimed in brightly.

It didn't really deserve a laugh, but Ginny was so relieved by their confidence, she couldn't hold it in. Soon, both Evelyn and Mike were laughing, too, and it hardly even mattered that she'd been stuck in the hospital for hours on end and her future as a major leaguer still hung in the balance. It hardly mattered that her brother'd lied to her and her agent left her. The people who mattered—most of them anyway—were here when she needed them. Things weren't so grim that she couldn't afford to laugh a little. 

"There a party in here someone forgot to invite me to?" 

As one, three heads swiveled to the door. (Gordon must have given up altogether on keeping people out of her room.) Standing there was the one person Ginny needed to round out this collection of her favorite people: Blip.

Blip Sanders wasn't the first of her teammates to become her friend, or even the second, but he was the one who'd stuck around the longest. The one she trusted implicitly and without hesitation. He was the big brother that she was starting to think Will would never be.

Tonight, he looked almost as tired as Ginny felt. His eyes darted between his wife, his captain, and Ginny herself, like he couldn't quite decide who needed his attention most at the moment. 

Given the way Evelyn looked down at her lap, lips pursing, Ginny would hazard an opinion. 

Thankfully, Blip wasn't an idiot. His attention zeroed in on his wife. Mike retreated to the other side of the bed, trading a stiff, if not unfriendly, nod with his teammate as he went. God, was it only today that they'd nearly gotten into a brawl on the field? It felt like a lifetime ago. 

Mike came and perched on the edge of the mattress—which did nothing good for Ginny's ability to concentrate on the drama unfolding before her.

"Hey," Blip murmured, hesitant.

"Hey," Ev replied, wary.

"Uh." He swallowed and stepped closer, his voice lowering. It was a small room, though, and did nothing to muffle his words or Ginny and Mike's ability to hear them. "Your mom called and said you left her your car. Said you might need a ride home."

"I was just going to take an Uber," she said, more careful than Ginny was used to hearing. What was going on there? Ev, whose motto in life was "Leap before you look," sounded almost like a stranger. Ginny traded a quick look with Mike, but he seemed as lost as she was. Evelyn stood and stared Blip down, arms folded over her stomach defensively. "You didn't have to pick me up."

"I wanted to." They were just three words, and three words that didn't mean much to Ginny or Mike upon hearing them, but Evelyn brightened the minute they were out of Blip's mouth. "And I had to come see how soon we could spring Ginny from this place."  Here, he grinned, and even though it was as tired as he was, damn if it didn't still make her feel better. 

Except everyone's attention was back on her now, which was less than ideal. Ginny shrugged and ignored the twinge it caused in her elbow. No one else did. All three of her friends frowned in concern at the grimace that passed over her face. Mike even made a play for the call button, but she swatted his hand away. She ignored his pouting in favor of replying, "I know what you know."

Blip shook his head in disappointment, but tactfully didn't pursue it any further. Instead, he changed the subject. "You hear that Oscar was dating Al's daughter?"

Soon, they were all dissecting every bit of clubhouse gossip they could recall. Evelyn provided some much needed fresh intel from the WAGs, even if no one really needed to know that much about Stubbs' sex life.

Mike had Ginny laughing so hard with his description of Buck's not-so-secret manuscript for a pulp mystery novel, she needed to lean on him for support. At some point, he'd scooted her over so he could actually sit and save his knee from bracing him against the floor. Ginny tried to tell herself it wasn't strange; Blip sat at the foot of the bed, too. But he only flicked at the bottom of her feet absently. His shoulder wasn't pressed against hers, or  his hip or thigh. That was just Mike. 

And since he was there, it was hard not to burrow into him, to revel in the familiar smell of his cologne, but she managed. Ginny actually thought that she was managing not to telegraph her giant crush just fine, too.  

Right up until Evelyn announced, after a few unusually quiet minutes from her spent ping ponging her attention back and forth between the pitcher and catcher tucked together on the bed, "We should get out of your hair," she did, anyway.

"We should?" Blip demanded incredulously.

"We should," his wife repeated, firm. When Blip continued to stare at her in confusion, her eyes widened and her nostrils flared. His eyes darted to the bed for just a second before refixing on Ev. 

It was a little funny to watch, this old, married couple pantomime. Evelyn would arch a brow and Blip would cross his arms. He'd wrinkle his nose and she'd toss her hair. It was a delicate, complex game of strategy; each move had a response that only the two players really understood. 

Ginny couldn't help but wonder if she'd ever know—or love—someone as well as the Sanders knew each other. 

At her side Mike shifted an inch closer, leaning down to mutter in her ear, "You have any idea when they'll be done?"

"Whenever Ev wins," she murmured back.

Mike chuckled, low and rumbling enough to make the hair on her arms stand on end. 

Sure enough, just moments later, Blip sighed. "So, we're gonna get out of your hair," he announced, long suffering. When Ev stood and came to loop an arm around his waist, though, he couldn't help the grin that stole across his lips. "But you better call us in the morning. Or as soon as you get the results. You can come over for breakfast, okay? Get the taste of hospital food outta your mouth."

"Okay," Ginny agreed. She traded cheek kisses with Evelyn and hugged Blip as fiercely as she could with one arm. She had to promise three more times to call with any news before they were out the door. Not before Blip could pin Mike with a hard stare, of course, but since it passed without either man coming to blows, Ginny wasn't going to question it.

As soon as they were gone, the elephant in the room only seemed to grow to take up the extra space. It was almost impossible to ignore. 

So, she didn't.

"How about you?" Ginny asked in spite of the way her mouth had gone dry. She ducked her head, too nervous to look him in the eye. "You gonna go or stay?"

Mike shifted away from her, and she had to swallow down the flood of disappointment that welled up her throat. Her eyes stung, but she refused to cry for this, just as she'd refused tears all day. Gaze trained on her lap, Ginny waited for the sound of the door.

It never came. 

Instead, Mike's hand slid into hers. Ginny watched it happen. Watched his pale, callused fingers brush against hers until they settled in her palm, his thumb laid over the back of her hand. 

They no longer sat shoulder to shoulder, trading stories with their friends. Face to face like this, in her otherwise empty room, it was impossible not to look at him. And when she looked at him, close like this, it was impossible not to remember the last time he'd been so close. Impossible not to recall the weight of his forehead leaning against hers, or the heat of his hands on her waist. Impossible not to think about the way his breath ghosted across her mouth, cool and minty. Impossible not to remember how the vibration of his phone had buzzed into her hip with how closely they pressed together. 

But all that only happened because he thought he was leaving. He'd only let himself give in because he thought it wouldn't be permanent.

God, what a mess. She couldn't have him until he left, but if he left, he wasn't really hers. 

Except... 

He was just as close now as he'd been that night. And neither one of them were leaving San Diego. He was still here, and he was holding her hand.

"Yeah," he said staring right into her eyes. They said so much more than simple words. "I could stay."

"But will you?"

The question crackled in the quiet room. Ginny didn't want to stuff it back behind her teeth; she needed the answer. For both the short- and long-term, too. At the same time, she almost didn't want to know. Not if she was just setting herself up for disappointment.

It didn't help that Mike was silent for a long moment. His thumb never stopped in its sweeping path over the back of her hand, though, and she couldn't bring herself to brace for the worst. When he looked up at her again, his other fingers tightened their grip, too. Something light and fluttery took wing in her stomach and didn't settle at all when he grinned and shrugged, too sweet to manage casual. 

"If you want," he said. 

Like she wanted anything else.

Ginny nodded in reply. How could she trust her voice when he was looking at her like that? Open and vulnerable and so, so hopeful. Finally, though, she managed, "I do."

"Then I'll stay."

"Oh," she breathed even as relief, giddy and effervescent bubbled up in her chest. "Good."

"That so?" Mike grinned, his head tilting to the side. Like that, he could look at her through his long lashes. She wouldn't mind if he looked at her like that all the time.

"Definitely."

"Good," he echoed, definitive. Because Mike Lawson, it seemed, was done talking. 

He leaned in and Ginny didn't care that she was in a hospital gown sitting under the least romantic lighting she'd ever been subjected to in her life. Right now, with Mike Lawson seated at her side, so close she could count the faint freckles on his cheeks, she wouldn't rather be anywhere else. 

She was beyond ready for what came next.

Except, what came next wasn't Mike's lips pressing against hers. It wasn't even his lips pressing against her cheek, or any other part of her. 

It was the door to her room swinging open yet again. This time, it revealed Al, Oscar, and her doctor. 

Ginny couldn't say who was more surprised by the other's presence, Oscar or Mike. (There was a funny little smile playing at the corner of Al's mouth, which he hid behind a well timed cough, but nothing about him said  _surprised_.)

The doctor, at least, seemed to take it in stride. 

"Miss Baker," she said with a slightly harried smile. "I'm sorry for the wait. Yours is an unusual case, and I needed to consult with a few colleagues to reach a diagnosis. Would you like some privacy while we go over it?"

"Privacy?" Was it really an option to do this without her manager or GM? Seemed doubtful.

"Oh, well..." her doctor trailed off after an embarrassed cough. 

"Lawson," Al said, stepping in when it became clear no one else would. "You staying or going?"

Ginny had to look down in her lap to hide her smile. Mike, however and as usual, had no such reservations. 

Grinning smugly, and more than likely confusing the hell out of at least Oscar and the doctor, he replied, "Oh, I'm here 'til Baker kicks me out."

_If he's waiting for that,_ Ginny thought even as the doctor started to go over the results of the MRI, _he's gonna be stuck with me forever_.

Which, now that she thought about it, sounded pretty close to perfect. 

 


End file.
